


I don't want you to go to heaven, papa

by duchessofclarence



Category: The White Queen (TV)
Genre: Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-19
Updated: 2013-07-19
Packaged: 2017-12-20 17:52:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,486
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/890116
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/duchessofclarence/pseuds/duchessofclarence
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>George says goodbye to his children before his execution, to join his beloved Isabel in the after-life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I don't want you to go to heaven, papa

**Author's Note:**

> I understand that there may be a lot of historical inaccuracies in this concerning ages and whatever else, but this is a rough piece of work until I can perfect it with more research later on. I found this incredibly hard to write, but I hope it's okay!

The fire had burnt and died down in the hearth, and still the Duke of Clarence remained in a frozen posture of both sadness and white-hot resentment. He looked down at the miniature oval portrait that he held in the palm of his hand; his wife looked back at him with a fierce and noble countenance. She had once told him that she wanted to be like stone – unemotional and reserved in her outer conduct; but as he looked down at the soft brush strokes that re-created her handsome features, he could see a small smile on her beautiful face. It took all of his power not to crush the feather-like portrait in his fist, for he still burned with need of retribution. 

George looked around at the bed chamber that he was held in during his trial; he had been imprisoned in relative comfort, but he would have preferred a musky cell. He did not want any last-minute kindness from his dear brother; for he would sooner pierce his flesh with the steel of a sword than embrace him once more. He had not considered his brother as an honourable king ever since he welcomed that sorceress into his bed and was seduced by her deceit and trickery. No, he would not exchange words with his brother unless forced. 

He had not laid his head upon a pillow since the loss of his beloved wife, for each time he decided to rest, he could see her cold, still face in his mind. George stared at the miniature portrait with such vigour that it could have flown away from him. He wanted to remember each contour of her face; how her cheeks would dimple when she smiled and how she often had to sweep her hair from her brow when it was loose and natural. He could remember her button nose and how it would wrinkle when she found something or someone displeasing. He could almost feel the warmth of her stare behind him, as she would have often looked at him from afar – George had always assumed that it was because she preferred him much more when silent. 

A smile cracked through his icy exterior at that moment. 

It was in that one moment that he realised how much adoration he felt for her. It was in that one moment that he wished that he had one last chance to hold her in his arms and tell her how much he truly cared for her, no matter how much his moods swayed. It was in that one moment that George realised that in the last few years, his stoic countenance had cracked and Isabel Neville had slipped into his cold heart. 

The door to his bed chamber rattled as the guard unlocked it. It was the sudden sound that made the Duke turn around with such vigour that the oval portrait fluttered from his hand and into the dull flames of the hearth. George was on his knees in a moment as he wrenched his hand into the coals to retrieve what was left of his wife’s face; the picture was blackened and singed to the point where all he could see was that small smile. It was as if, at that moment, he just realised that she was dead. His wife was dead. His dear Isabel was dead, and she was not coming back to him. 

_I will come to you_ , he whispered to himself. 

The door swung open as he was on his knees by the fire, and one of the guards entered and behind him was the familiar nursemaid with Edward in her arms. He was on his feet in a moment as he bounded over to the woman and swept his son out of her arms and into his own: he didn’t have much time to memorise their sweet faces. 

“I have been ordered by the King to bring your children to your chambers, as a presentation of his kindness and generosity,” the soldier spoke robotically. 

The Duke didn’t even look at the man, but instead showed his dismissal as he addressed the nursemaid and asked where his dear Margaret was. He received his answer when a small cry came from outside the door; the nursemaid took her little hand and ushered the child into the room. The sweet girl, but three years old, was a concoction of tears and sobs as she stood in her little dress with her thumb in her mouth and her dark ringlets in disarray around her pink face.

“Now, I do not know how such a pretty girl can cry so,” he crooned as he offered his hand out to the trembling child who looked more like her mother than her father.

Margaret took her father’s hand just as the nursemaid and guard retreated out of the room; he was taken aback that he was even permitted an interaction with his children since his brothers had condemned him to death. It would have been a weight on his mind if it were not for the fact that he would soon meet his wife once more.

George sat on the bed with his children: faces that peered up at him as if he were God himself and blinked in expectation as if he had the power to make all their fears diminish with one wave of his hand. He wasn’t much of a man for holding his children, as he often liked to watch his wife interact with them. She would lift both of them into her arms and kiss their little noses. All she had ever wanted were her babies. 

“I don’t want you to go to heaven, papa,” little Margaret spoke in hushed tones.

“I’m afraid I don’t have much of a choice in the matter, and knowing me, who knows if heaven is even where I’ll be residing in the after-life,” he answered with a smirk. 

He looked down at his daughter, three years old and pretty as a button, and noticed the confusion on her little features. The Duke smiled and lifted her into his arms so that she was perched on his other knee, facing little Edward, who was still but a baby. 

“I have to be in heaven with your mama, so that she doesn’t become lonely.” 

“Can you come back and visit me?”

“I’m afraid that’s not how it works, my dear.”

Edward sat on his father’s lap with no notion of what was about to take place; he could not understand his mother’s death nor his father’s execution. Margaret, however, understood that this was the last time that she would sit on her father’s lap and for him to wipe hot tears from her pink cheeks. 

“I don’t have much time with you, so you must listen, Margaret.” He reached out and tucked a lock of her dishevelled hair behind her little ear as she sniffled in earnest. His son’s tiny hands pulled at the collar of his shirt in a desperate need for attention; the mere gesture made the cold Duke smile. His bloodline will carry on, and Isabel’s face will be seen in generations of his kin. “You must take care of your brother, because you are all he has in the world, sweet girl.”

“And you must take care of mama and our baby brother in heaven.”

George could feel his hands trembling once more as he pulled both of his children towards him in an embrace; he could feel tears stream down his cheeks in an uncontrollable influx of emotions. He wept for his beloved wife, who he had loved dearly despite his cold manner. He wept for Richard, his second son, who perished without the warm touch of his mother. He wept for the child that he lost at sea, and had never recovered from such a loss even though he rarely talked of it. He wept for his sweet children, who had such a disappointing father, but a breath-taking mother. 

The door opened, all too soon, and their time was over. He would never again see the little round faces of his children, for he was to join his wife presently. George kissed his children with a fervent adoration for them: he could taste the salt of Margaret’s tears on her cheeks and could smell the sweet scent of little Edward on his brow. 

“I want to stay!” Margaret said indignantly as her nursemaid lifted Edward into her arms and tried to desperately tear the little girl away from her doomed father. 

“Remember that papa loves you both very much,” George called out to them, just as both of his children were swept out of the room and the door slammed shut behind them. He could still hear the sound of Margaret’s screams and sobs of protests as she was pulled away from the room. 

_Yes, papa will miss you very much._


End file.
